


Morning Nano-Generators

by catastrophicmeltdown



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophicmeltdown/pseuds/catastrophicmeltdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A typical morning in 221b.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Nano-Generators

Sherlock inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as sunlight blinded him for a moment. John must have left the curtains open after his shift again. He sighed and moved to get up, but found himself pinned by a strong arm around his waist.

He huffed and smiled slightly, running a hand through John's hair. Honestly, it always looked like a disaster in the morning, no matter how tamed it was when he went to bed the night before. He gently combed it down with his fingers, counting the gray hairs and assigning recent cases to the ones that had appeared since his last count.

Twenty hairs. Eight on the left temple, twelve on the right. Divided evenly by the number of cases, that was approximately 3.33 grays each since his last count. Not bad, although at the rate he was going, John would be completely gray by the year's end.

Good thing he liked his John gray. It gave him an air of distinction.

His mind got caught up in calculating tangent projections, and he didn't notice John sleepily open his eyes. He rubbed his eyes and frowned at Sherlock.

"Sherlock, stop thinking so hard. I can hear the cogs turning from here."

"Not possible," Sherlock rebuked, pecking him on the lips. Now free of John's grip he got out of bed, pulling on a pair of trousers. "You are not telepathic, nor do my mental processes make so much noise as to be heard within the human range of sound."

"Must you take things so literally?" John said. He looked at Sherlock and did a double take. "Uh, Sherlock? Those are _my_ trousers."

Sherlock glanced down. The legs ended several inches above his ankle. "Indeed they are."

He shimmied out of them and tossed them to John, pulling on another pair that actually fit and turning toward the kitchen. John stumbled after him, still half asleep and uncoordinated.

Sherlock immediately went to his Petri dishes, checking the progress of his experiment while John set the kettle and reached behind the preserved eyes in the cupboard for some tea.

"By the way, John," Sherlock said, holding the dish up to the light, "why would you call my brain cells 'cogs'? If you are looking for a mechanical description of them, self-sustaining nano-generator would be a more apt term."

"Self-sustaining nano-generator?" John said, raising an eyebrow. "You made that up, didn't you?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock answered. "But you must admit it is better than 'cogs.'"

"It's too early for this," John grumbled.

"It is not. It is nearly noon."

"What?" John said, glancing at the clock. It read 11:42. "Oh. I must have been more tired than I thought."

"Obviously, if you allowed yourself to sleep so late." Sherlock put the Petri dishes away and scribbled down a few notes before snatching John's cup of tea and escaping to the bedroom.

John groaned and followed him. "Angelo's for lunch, then?"

"No," Sherlock said, tossing his phone onto the bed just as John walked in. "Lestrade just texted me. We have a case!"

John groaned and collapsed on the bed, pulling the phone out from underneath him and tossing it to Sherlock when it dug into his back. "I'm tired, Sherlock."

"Really? Too bad," Sherlock said, digging in the closet. "I guess I'll have to go to the crime scene by myself then."

He pulled out the purple shirt, and John locked eyes with him. "You wouldn't."

Sherlock put his arms through and buttoned the front. "Sherlock, you're not going out in public like that by yourself."

He fastened the cuffs.

"Sherlock, you _know_ what that shirt does."

Sherlock pulled out his shoes and quickly pulled them on, grabbing his coat and bolting out of the door as John jumped out of bed.

"Sherlock!"

The door slammed shut. John sighed and went back to the room, finding a more respectable pair of trousers and a jumper. He cursed his possessiveness and how weak his will was when it came to seeing Sherlock in that shirt.

That sight belonged to _him_ , thank you very much.

He quickly ran a brush through his hair before chugging down what was left of his tea and going downstairs. He ran right into Sherlock as he opened the front door.

"Excellent! Come now John, no time to waste! We don't want Anderson messing around with our body."

John just rolled his eyes and hailed a cab. Sherlock would pay for that when they got home, anyway. Those handcuffs Sherlock had stolen from Lestrade would definitely come in handy tonight.


End file.
